Fire and Ice
by Deer-Shifter
Summary: Even when memories are wiped, you cannot always wash away the impressions they have left behind, like a glacier's slow but unmistakable footprint in the land. Dead on the battlefield, a mortal spirit is reborn in a very different world, to a very different lifetime-and yet, one similar enough that the position change leads to definite contradictions. Sasu-is-Hiei, rating may up.
1. Life In Death

I know I'm not the only one to compare these two characters, but I wanted to explore for myself how the mentality of one might lie behind the remarks and behavior of the other. IF YOU'RE READING FOR A PAIRING OF HIEI AND SASUKE, TURN BACK. YOU WILL NOT FIND THAT HERE. Nor will you find any other pairings, at least for now, except a few possibilities mentioned in the prologue. Crushes, yes, pairings, no.

Other Warnings: possible spoilers through current Fourth Shinobi War Arc (as of New Years eve 2012), including everything involving Uchiha. also possible divergence from this point and a bit further back. DO NOT GIVE ME REVIEWS SAYING I"M INCORRECT ABOUT CANNON THIS IS FANFICTION FOR A REASON.

Disclaimer – I do not own anything of Naruto or YuYu Hakusho. The poem 'Fire and Ice' is, of course, the work of Robert Frost. Any other poets or quotations will be given their due credit if used.

At this point, this is intended as a one-shot with the possibility of a continuation. or sequels. it depends. For now, enjoy as is- Fire and Ice.

_Some say the world will end in fire,_

_Some say in ice._

_From what I've tasted of desire_

_I hold with those who favor fire._

_But if it had to perish twice,_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_To say that for destruction ice_

_Is also great_

_And would suffice._

_'Fire and Ice' by Robert Frost_

**Fire And Ice**

**Chapter One: Life in Death**

By the time it all ends in a swirl of blood and fire, he can barely remember what things used to look like, the childish worldview of white and black, skewed into different squares of gray and attempts at tinting in blue and yellow and green and bloodredredbloodredredbloodb led Cursed-Sharingan scarlet and swirled Mangekyo black darkness. The fires are gone and the ashes of revenge are so cold they burn.

How does it end for such a man-or such a monster, depending on who you ask-how does such a being die?

Some say he killed all those directly responsible before stepping in the way of his once-best-friend's fiancé's sword-of all the rookies, all the original, still-loyal Konoha Twelve, only the traitor and the weapons mistress have taken to the sword; the former ROOT's tanto doesn't count. None of the Teams survive unscathed-the once passed-over heiress can only run field missions now with her insides so scarred and twisted, the prodigy cousin and the once-favored-spare are killed fighting back to back, the flower turned healing herb oversteps herself trying to heal everyone and scars her own Chakra Network for life, the viridian taijutsu virtuoso loses too much blood defending his longtime crush, the faithful hound permanently lames his left forepaw dragging his master out of a minefield, the mistress of mental infiltration lies comotose, the genius who reacted too late to a stray kunai is blind… but why go on? They're all dead or out of commission or permanently broken in some way or another. Those left over marry, or somehow cling to each other in other ways and try to tell themselves there will be no more leaving.

Some say he and the never-crowned Hokage kill each other in a double suicide, Naruto only surviving thanks to his tenant, a cruel parody of the battle at the Valley of the End. After that, Naruto claims he can't stomach the job-it has too many memories attached to it. Instead he forces himself into what was once Danzo's role, ensuring that the Uchiha tragedy will not replay itself, nor will ROOT. No one is more surprised than Hinata when Naruto recommends her husband for the Hat, with the exception of perhaps the artist himself. The photographs of his shocked, fish-face impression reaction are blackmail good for years-while he's gotten much better at body language, displaying the correct facial expression still poses a challenge for Sai. Sakura remains a doctor and head of the hospital, and though it takes ten years for Shino to agree to her proposal, they do eventually marry-after teaming up to stomp all the bee-honey-flower jokes.

And while the monster boy who never had a chance to fully become a man is buried with a thousand corpses, his memory will not fade, even if his name does. Naruto makes certain of it, just as he makes certain to burn every Uchiha eye and trace of blood. Unlike the phoenix, this pyre will not birth a new being.

Or will it?

No. At least…

Not in this world.

Not in this race.

Not in this birth order.

For reincarnation and karma must balance. Where one once had everything, then lost what he valued most and ended by throwing the rest away, now one must start with nothing, despised from the start, and work to gain all. And yet enough of the challenges must be the same for him to be judged properly by them. So very complicated, the selection of a new life, let alone for such a-a soul, perhaps, is most fitting now, or better yet, spirit-as this one. Even when the memories are wiped, you cannot always wash away the impressions they have left behind, like a glacier's slow but unmistakable footprint in the land.

What will become of his world?

Who knows? The old one, the Land of Fire, he has left burning merrily. There will never be peace there again, only ceasefires in a never-ending war of secrecy and lies and truth torn open at the guts.

And the new world, which names as its ender before even existence sparks, is, perhaps fittingly, a land of snow and ice.

A land where he is condemned not for deeds, but gender and existence.

In one world, Uchiha Sasuke's death rattle is gasped out to an empty sky, eyes wide and flat and open as the empty husk settles into rigor mortis.

In another world, Hiei opens his eyes, and stares at the mother he does not yet realize he is about to lose.

Author's note: In case you didn't understand the character references

the weapons mistress (Tenten)

the once passed-over heiress (Hinata)

the prodigy cousin (Neji) and the once-favored-spare (Hanabi)

the flower turned healing herb (Sakura)

the viridian taijutsu virtuoso (LEE)

the faithful hound (Akamaru) and his master (Kiba)

the mistress of mental infiltration (Ino)

the genius (Shikamaru)

the artist (Sai)

Also-even if I didn't mention them, IF I DIDN'T OUTRIGHT SAY HE OR SHE WAS DEAD, ASSUME ALIVE. Not that it matters much, as we probably won't be coming back to them. But yes, Chouji, Kiba, Shino, Shikamaru, Hinata, Sakura, Naruto, Tenten…they're alive. I probably missed some others and I didn't think all that much about the other generations. We won't be returning here, so it doesn't really matter now.


	2. Fallen From 'Grace'

AN: Would appreciate a little feedback to know if it is worth continuing, people. Please? Just a few words to tell me if it's still holding up in quality and interest.

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_There, out in the darkness_

_A fugitive running_

_Fallen from god_

_Fallen from grace_

_God be my witness_

_I never shall yield_

_Till we come face to face_

_Till we come face to face_

_He knows his way in the dark_

_Mine is the way of the Lord_

_Those who follow the path of the righteous_

_Shall have their reward_

_And if they fall, as Lucifer fell_

_The flame, the sword!_

_- excerpt from 'Stars,' sung by Javert, Les Misérables_

**Chapter 2: Fallen From 'Grace'**

His mother's name is Hina, he learns from the words of those around him (for some reason, this name echoes oddly in his ears, somehow incorrect and yet right at the same time). She is all pale moonlight and softness, frail in her beauty as a thawing icicle. Whatever her normal strength, she is weakened by the birth—too weak to protect him as the elders tear him from her arms in mere moments. His own attempts to struggle bother his captors not at all; in his mind, a voice distorted as if by distance sneers at his weakness, infuriating him.

The old women and the younger ones they order about take care never to touch him bare-skinned; they wear gloves, or, in emergency, wrap their hands in their long sleeves. It has something to do with their coldness and his heat, he supposes; young as he is, he can tell this is not his natural environment, and if any doubts were left, the way they spit out _'fire'_ in the same tone as _'Imiko'_, cursed child, settles it. Even their name for him, _Hiei_, Flying Shadow, speaks of their fear of him. Again, he supposes it has something to do with his heat and their ice.

They do have the courtesy to give him a diaper before wrapping him up in bandages and ofudas until he can barely breathe, let alone move. So much protection for them from his aura and power? This is laughable, how much they fear him! Him, a babe!

And yet somehow, this is as it should be, and he already knew it. It only serves to confirm his impression of them as blind fools afraid of change and difference.

He does not know the specifics of _why_ they do this, however, until the day he is carried to a cliff. He sees his mother, struggling between two of her age mates. Like all the others, she regards him with fear—but in her eyes, there is love, too. Not fear _of_ him, but rather _for _him? Foreboding clenches his gut, anger rising though he does not know why.

He listens as the most wrinkled crone of all, her mouth in a permanent scowl, proceeds to list his mother's crimes: to seek out a male - and not just any male, but a fire demon, their antithesis of the ice-women - to lie with him, to bear a boy like her paramour. In the end, all crimes are one: she has Broken the Rules (he can _hear_ the capitals) and created a _fire demon son_ whose very existence is apparently against nature.

This crime of existing sounds very familiar, but he does not know why. He is very certain of the punishment, however.

He refuses to fear such fools, who kill what they cannot understand, the judges who are not even brave enough to kill him themselves. Instead, they delegate another woman – _Rui_, who cradles him with sad eyes – to do the job. And when she hesitates on the edge of the cliff, the oldest witch of the mob sprinkles poisoned words in her ear, pretending to sympathize, understand the difficulty of killing the child of one's best friend – and still insisting that she do it, even as Hina struggles harder to get to them, as futile an effort as a fly trapped in a web, and just as progressively frantic as death creeps forward on eight legs.

And then the Elder's words become even more familiar:

"But you must do this for her own good, and yours, and ours. This _imiko_, this boy of fire, will slaughter us all!"

Again the words echo like something he has heard before. Rage fills him – how _dare_ they condemn a child as a murderer already? Do they really believe they can keep their hands, their snow-white fingers, clean by justifying the unconscionable? That their choir of angels will stay pure if his 'taint' is destroyed or removed?

Maybe he _will_ do as they say if he stays here. Maybe not; why make such an effort if not needed? And why do they actually think he'd slaughter a kid, let alone a large group of them? Where is the proof? In his red (yes, they are red – he caught a glimpse in an ice mirror as they trussed him up in bonds) eyes? In his black hair, already on his head, so unlike their white or blue or green locks? In his skin a shade more tan than the snow? These are no angels, no heavenly bodies, no stars—and their pretense as such is ridiculous.

A pause – Rui has not reacted to the words, or moved. But he can feel her fumbling in her sleeve for something, covering it by whispering an apology to him.

What a sheep. Even if logically there is nothing she can do, shouldn't she at least _try_?

The elder hears the half-whisper, and snaps at her, "Do not pity The Beast!" (Funny. If _he's _a beast, what does that make them?)

"_You_ _killed_ _my_ _son!"_

Hina's cry cuts the wind that fills the silence. Her scream is one of agony, combining despair and desperation and defiance all at once. No one can doubt the love, though, when she names him thus—MY son. Past the curve of Rui's arms, he can somewhat glimpse his mother, still struggling in the hold of two women her own age, their faces turned away from him as if to avoid contamination, their arms never loosening even as Hina reaches out her one free hand, still trying to save him. Even now, when some sign of repentence might grant _her_ some mercy, readmit her to this 'heaven', she hasn't given up physically, even if her words already name him dead. A rush of tenderness fills him, and he wonders why she is so different from the rest of these hags – and they are most definitely pitiless hags, no matter what their age or beauty. And his mother is most definitely different, with the boldness to create and keep and birth a being so mysterious and different to them as Hiei himself.

Rui is tucking something into his bandages. His tiny fists grasp instinctively to the shiny stone. It's the same one that fell from his mother's face as she held him, he is certain, realizing with astonishment that it is her crystallized tear.

Raising his eye to his carrier, he hears words, but not with his ears. Somehow Rui must be pushing the message to him through other means, wary of the still observing elder. The method, while curious (and, dare he say, somewhat ticklish), is less important now than the message, and he devotes his full attention to it.

- _When you come back, seeking the revenge that you and - – _her 'voice' breaks momentarily, before continuing – - _and we, deserve – please kill me first. -_

He does not blink as he accepts the tear gem, an acknowledgement of the words somehow passed straight to his mind, words she dares not speak aloud—and his own, wordless promise to fulfill the revenge she describes.

Revenge. Though less than two days old, it sounds somehow familiar, like a garment made for him. And yet, at the same time, it is like rewatching a play, but from opposite the side that he is accustomed to being on.

As she closed her eyes, the end of the message comes through, a part he is uncertain whether she means him to hear or not:

- _It's the least I can offer to atone for what I'm about to do. -_

And with that, his forboding becomes reality, as she extends her arms –

and drops him into the sea of clouds.

He hears one last tear choked cry, his mother naming him as hers once more, even as the rushing air around him cuts off further noise. He falls from heaven, condemned for existence, with only a starry jewel, a name, and a purpose of vengeance.

_My mother's tribe called me Hiei the imiko, the cursed child of the Glacial Village._

-Hiei, YuYu Hakusho, Episode 100: The Secret of the Jagan

**Next time:**

Bad fortune to the Korime elders, for he lands not on hard ground, but in water, in a free-flowing river, and while stunned from impact, he does not die.

AN: Remember, comments and criticisms appreciated, particularly if reasons are included!


	3. Deep Roots Are Not Reached By The Frost

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

_All that is gold does not glitter,_

_Not all those who wander are lost;_

_The old that is strong does not wither,_

_Deep roots are not reached by the frost._

_From the ashes a fire shall be woken,_

_A light from the shadows shall spring;_

_Renewed shall be blade that was broken,_

_The crownless again shall be king._

_- J.R.R. Tolkien, "The Fellowship of the Ring_

**Chapter 3: Deep Roots Are Not Reached By The Frost**

Bad fortune to the Korime elders, for he lands in water, in a river, and while stunned, he does not die.

Though in later years he scorns luck as a turning force in battles, Hiei never forgets how incredibly lucky he is to have survived to reach his twentieth year, let alone any stage of physical maturity. No matter how much stubborn determination he may possess, no matter how much intelligence, he is still less than three days old when he is dropped.

The water is the first of his saving graces.

It is quick flowing at his entry point, but within a few long turns, it begins to slow enough that he drifts to one side and is caught in the reeds.

His second grace is the bandit who comes to do his laundry.

It has been a good day for the gang of robbers and cutthroats – many valuables 'acquired,' many enemies slaughtered – and, of course, much blood staining the victors' clothes. Laundry is immediately necessary for their sensitive noses (while they hardly mind the smell, it does make it more difficult to pick out old blood from new, and _that_ could be fatal), and it falls to one of the less-skilled members to start cleaning up first, while the more successful, more senior members get to divide the loot, gloating and glaring and grabbing fair shares.

The sight of the bundle naturally makes the demon curious. The sight of a face shocks him, especially when the occupant is awake and aware and alive enough to track him with its eyes. Even so, this is the Makai, and a particularly vicious quarter of it. There is no reason for him to have further interest in the bundle, now that it is proven to be neither threat nor food nor valuables.

Or is it?

Hiei's third grace is Hina's hiruseki stone, the cord still tightly clenched in his hand.

Curiousity leads the brigand to rub at the muddy pendant with a wet thumb until the shine is revealed. Though he does not know the value, he knows that shiny things are as often valuable as not, and even if not, can be passed as such before the eyes of the ignorant.

But when he tries to pull the cord, it does not come free.

The tiny imiko, small enough to fit into their cooking pot three times over, may not be strong enough to wrestle two snakes at once in his cradle and crush them both. But he is stubborn, and this is _his_ – the last thing he has of his mother – and this man has _no right_ to take it unless he is strong enough to do so. Well, this infant is a little more stubborn than the man is strong.

This is the Makai. Strength is interesting.

Unwilling to let go of the jewel (and reluctant to leave the owner even so), the lesser demon picks it up, bundled baby and all, and carries Hiei back to camp.

The next one he shows the jewel to appears to be the leader. If the brawn, size, and intelligence tucked into slits of eyes weren't clues, the fact that he was getting first chance at seconds at the soup pot would tip it off. Or maybe it's just the confidence that is only exuded when a demon knows he is in his own territory, the territory he has fought and scratched and bit and killed for, drawing the boundaries in his enemies' guts, the confidence that says _this is mine, I rule here, what are you to me?_

Will they never learn? This one wants the shiny crystal too, and is actually willing to stick a second finger close when one hand alone does not pull it free. Foolish to get so close to such a small space with little room to maneuver. Hiei has no qualms about defending what is his, no fears of the large hand. He is a child—why should he not find himself equal to the world? What evidence is there that the bandit is any stronger or less foolish than the inhabitants of the Glacier Village?

The possibility of hesitation does not exist. He has no sword, but his teeth are sharp enough, he thinks.

And as the brigand pulls back, clutching his already bleeding finger, offering a backhand compliment to the 'little rodent's' fangs, he bares his own teeth in a grin, the sort that innocents might find terrifying, but Hiei finds familiar. It is a grin of welcome to a worthy opponent.

He will never know the fire demon who contributed to his creation. He doesn't have to.

He doesn't need any kin in the ice maidens; though he will not forget the mother who claimed to love him, he cannot forgive that she was too weak to keep them together. Words are only good so long as one can and does back them with actions.

What does that matter? He has found kin, blood-kin, even if it is the sort of blood kin formed not by shared ancestry but by shared experience in battle and survival. And in some ways, that is even sweeter.

Here, he will grow strong.

_That bandit was to become the closest thing I had to a father. _

-Hiei, YuYu Hakusho, Episode 100: The Secret of the Jagan

Author's note: My one reviewer worried that I was too focused on YYH, to the point that this wasn't a crossover. I can only agree that YYH is strong now. The memories are going to start playing a greater role in a few chapters—in connection to a special kind of eyes.

Hope for some more reviews now!


End file.
